


In The Night

by stormwreath



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Masturbation, Other, Season/Series 07, Telepathy, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-26
Updated: 2010-08-26
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:24:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormwreath/pseuds/stormwreath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's late at night, and Willow can't get to sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Night

The night was heavy and stifling. The heat lay over Willow like a smothering blanket - her real one had been discarded long since, and lay crumpled and forgotten on the floor by her bed. The thin sheet that was all that was left to her was damp and clammy, sticking to her slick skin as she twisted and rolled, unable to sleep.

She could feel the darkness. It was all around her, whispers and sly chuckles and tears and laughter. In the garden, there was a sickening moment of fear and a flash of pain quickly over as an owl swooped down on a mouse. Three doors down, Mr and Mrs Hernandez were arguing again. His rage was bright and hotter than the night itself; her anger was bitter and sullen and its depth made Willow shiver despite the heat. Across the street, a young man she didn't recognise was walking home, a mood of bravado stretched thinly over his growing nerves as his footsteps echoed down the empty street and he remembered the warnings he'd jokingly dismissed - you don't go out alone after dark. Not in Sunnydale.

Willow tried to focus on her own lessons, remember the training that the Coven had started to give her before she'd had to leave. Focus inward, shut out the world. Let the insistent clamour of thoughts fade to nothing, nothing but the distant rush of surf on the beach, the wind rustling in the branches. Breathe. Breathe again. Let it fade...

A sharp, insistent burst of emotion crashed straight through her half-built barriers and set her whole body tingling with heat. Someone close by, then, and someone well-known to her. The flow of feelings continued to rush over and around her, less urgent but still intense, and she recognised their flavour. It was Dawn, of course; in the other bedroom two doors down from Willow's, and clearly unable to get to sleep either. And judging by the way Willow's own body was reacting and awakening in response to the rush of thoughts being broadcast in all directions, there were no prizes for guessing what Dawn had chosen to do now she was awake.

Willow groaned, and rolled over onto her side to bury her face in the pillow. This was the last thing she needed.

She always felt like a voyeur when this happened - which was far too often for Willow's liking. Or wait, should that be voyeuse? A French feminine ending? She wasn't great at languages. Maybe she should go online, try to research it: there was probably a forum or community for this kind of question, surely? And maybe her feeble attempt to distract herself with intellectual speculation wasn't working, when a teenage girl with overactive hormones had decided to start masturbating ten yards away from a powerful telepath who was only barely learning how to control her abilities.

Well, at least it would distract her from the pain and fear and misery going on outside. Dawn's thoughts, heightened by her sexual arousal, were coming through loud and clear. She was spinning a fantasy for herself, which Willow could watch playing out in her brain as vividly as a movie on TV. But not a film starring Brad Pitt or Angelina Jolie or anyone like that, which was a shame - Willow herself would have preferred Angelina, of course, but regretfully Dawn was a staunch Bradosexual. Except that this time the starring role in her fantasy wasn't being played by anyone famous, but by a boy in her class at school. Someone Willow had never met, but had heard Dawn talk about often enough. And he'd invited her to a party that Saturday, and...

And Dawn's fantasy was all about what might happen after that party. In explicit, XXX-rated detail. Willow sat bolt upright in her bed, fighting back the urge to rush straight into Dawn's room and forbid her from going to the party. Or maybe tell her to take her sister as chaperone. She mustn't, she was too young, she--- Willow forced herself to breathe again. It was only a fantasy. Make believe. Dawn was much too sensible to do anything like that for real (she hoped). Willow reminded herself of the elaborately choreographed sexual fantasies she'd composed when she was Dawn's age, and equally as inexperienced. A few of them had even featured Xander, which she'd long ago decided she was never, ever going to tell him. (Others had instead centred on Cordelia, and there was no way on the Goddess's green earth she'd have admitted that little fact. It had taken her long enough to admit it to herself.)

_"And besides, Will"_, she thought, _"Got to be practical here. How would Dawn react if she discovered I was listening in on her fantasies? She'd freak out at me, and rightly so...  
"Oooh. Maybe she'd be so freaked out, she'd swear off masturbation forever, or at least when I was in the house, and I'd get some peace?  
"No. That wouldn't be fair on her. She shouldn't have to suffer for my problems, it's my own fault I'm like this. Just got to live with it..."_

And so she lay her head back down on the pillow and forced herself to keep calm as the stream of thoughts from Dawn's brain flowed out around her. Her own body was still reacting to the rush of sexual energy, and she gripped the sheet with both hands to keep them from slipping down under it. That would be wrong, it would be creepy and wrong, and she couldn't lose control. Losing control led to badness.

Her nipples ached, they were so hard, and Willow rubbed one of them with the heel of her hand. The electric jolt of pleasure it sent through her body made her almost lose her resolution. Almost. Her mind spun away out of control, and before she knew it her vagrant consciousness had melded with the source of the passion filling her. She - no, Dawn - no, they - she was lying on Dawn's bed, in Dawn's bedroom. She was naked, covers thrown completely off, a cool draught on bare skin from the air vent. Willow felt it, as clearly as Dawn felt it. She was lying flat on her back, sprawled comfortably across the mattress, her legs spread wide. Her hand - no, Dawn's hand - was busy at her crotch (Dawn's crotch). She was teasing herself, her fingers sliding gently up and down, to and fro, the slick wetness making them glide easily over Willow's - no, Dawn's hot yielding flesh.

Then she shifted her arm, pressing three fingers firmly against the top of her slit, and rubbed in slow but intense circles that sent spikes of pleasure up though her belly, causing her heart to pound and her breath to come rapidly. Willow was swept away in the sensation of it, not knowing or caring if her own body in her own bed was copying the action or not - it felt the same. But then Dawn stopped, deliberately stopped, and brought her hand away and wiped wet fingers over her breasts, the chill as the moisture evaporated making her body tingle. Then she began the slow teasing again, sliding fingertips-only round and round her nipples then back down her body. She was clearly planning to make this last a long, long time, and Willow didn't know whether to be grateful, or curse her as a torturer, and--

From outside there was a sudden sensation of intense fear, darkness and hunger, strong enough to break the involuntary gestalt; and back in her own bed again Willow thought "Oh thank Goddess" then felt immediately guilty as she worried what had happened. The boy? The one on his way home, who'd laughed at the warnings not to walk the streets at night - had he discovered the reason why it was dangerous? Anxiously, she centred herself and sent her thoughts out deliberately this time, searching to find what had happened. It was difficult and frustrating, like trying to hear an individual voice in a chanting stadium crowd; but just when she thought she'd have to give up she caught the timbre of his thoughts again. It was definitely him, and he was afraid and confused... but also relieved. Relieved?

And then Willow relaxed and even smiled as she caught a quick flash of a far more familiar mind. Buffy was back from patrol, and feeling a distinct lack of respect for the idiocy of a vampire who'd try and attack a victim on Revello Drive, of all places. Must be a newbie. Or ex-bie, now. Old-bie? Dust-bie? Blowing in the wind-bie? Bye-bie? Willow heard herself giggling as her best friend amused herself with wordplay as she quietly opened the front door and hung up her jacket and stake beside it.

Besides, it was a welcome distraction from the Dawn lust extravaganza still going on next door. Focussing on Buffy's thoughts was hard, and Willow's attention kept getting drawn back to what Dawn was doing and feeling and thinking; but she forced herelf to persevere. It was good practice, anyway.

The thought that it was also an invasion of Buffy's privacy did occur to her briefly; but, she reasoned, it wasn't exactly her fault. (Except, whose fault was it that she had these powers now, if not hers?) And besides, it was probably much better to invade Buffy's privacy than to invade Dawn's at this precise moment. All Buffy was thinking about right now was raiding the refrigerator; perfectly innocent.

She poured herself a glass of orange juice and downed it in a single movement - Willow actually tasted the fruit flavour in her own mouth as she did. Then she grabbed a slice of cold pizza and started chewing on it as she tiptoed her way upstairs. She'd just swallowed the last mouthful as she pushed open the bathroom door then turned to lock it behind her - and Willow hastily broke the link and turned her mind elsewhere. That would be an invasion too far, even compared to eavesdropping on Dawn...

Which, now she was deliberately trying not to listen to Buffy's thoughts, was exactly and inevitably where her attention was pulled back. Dawn's fantasy was losing coherence now, the overwhelming sensations from her body blotting out all rational thought. She was still attempting to alternate between rubbing and gentle stroking, but the gaps were getting shorter, it was getting harder and harder for her to break off. Willow could feel her clit hard and swollen beneath her fingers, feel the breath panting in her own chest, the jolts of pleasure that set her legs quivering and made her throw her - no, Dawn's - head back then whip it round to bury it in the pillow.Willow could sense the calculation slowly forming in Dawn's brain, not expressed in words but in dim unspoken urges, but its meaning clear enough: "Okay, that's enough, time to let go, time to just go for it, bring myself off; here we go..."

Then the sound of the toilet flushing echoed loudly through the darkened house, followed by a creak from the pipes as the water in the sink was turned on, and Willow sensed Dawn freeze. A flash of panic gripped her brain - "Ohmigod, Buffy's back, what if she decides to come in and talk to me, I'm all naked!" She lay there listening hard for sounds of her sister's approach, wondering whether to grab the sheets... and Willow felt torn, because part of her was just relieved that Dawn had stopped playing with herself, and the other part of her felt guilty at that, and sympathetic, and blamed Buffy for spoiling her sister's fun.

But then came the sound of the shower starting up, and Dawn relaxed, and Willow clearly heard her think to herself "Oh, well"... and then she started rubbing herself again. Quietly. So no reprieve after all - and in fact it was worse, because the interruption had lost Dawn some of her erotic charge, and so she had to build it up again and the whole thing would take even longer than before, and then...

And then Willow's last hope of maintaining any sense of privacy or decorum came crashing down in flames as a second, even more insistent and demanding rush of sexual energy came flooding over her like a tsunami over a Japanese fishing village. From the direction of the bathroom.

Now Buffy was at it as well.

Both of them at the same time, both of them within thirty feet of her with only a wall or two between them. They didn't know - Willow, tuned into their thoughts, knew that neither of the Summers women were aware what the other was doing. But that didn't help her. The doubled-up waves of lust and passion oscillated through her brain, echoing and reinforcing each other, making her own body throb and pulsate and twist. She whimpered and hid her head under her pillow, but it didn't help one bit.

Buffy was standing in the shower, her feet planted far apart, and the showerhead in her hand was aimed at point-blank range at her pussy. She moved it side to side gently then held it at a steady angle, and her whole body shook and quivered with the intensity of it. In happier days - which is to say, last year - Willow had, um, carried out similar experiments herself, and she knew she'd never be able to stand it with the water pressure turned up to full and the showerhead held so close; she was too sensitive down there. But Buffy was enjoying it, Buffy was more than enjoying it and through the mental link that tied them together Willow could enjoy it too.

Except she shouldn't, she mustn't, it was bad, it was wrong... it was Buffy. Willow could feel Buffy's other hand squeeze her breast, hard enough that each finger made a pale little indentation in the soft flesh but not hard enough to hurt - or at least, not hurt a Slayer - and remembered all the times before that she'd fantasised about feeling that. Buffy's hand came down over her pussy, blocking the water as she rubbed at her clit directly, and Willow felt the hand as vividly as if it were her own flesh being stroked and kneaded.

Then Buffy hung the showerhead up into its holder and leaned back against the wall, bracing her legs to keep from sliding down. She hooked her hand around and plunged two fingers deep inside herself. Just like that, no warning or build-up, and Willow gasped and arched upwards as Buffy impaled her body. She felt her muscles spasm and tighten around the inserted fingers, and at the self-same time she felt the hot, wet and yielding softness enveloping her fingers and gripping tightly as Buffy's muscles squeezed down on her.

Then Buffy started thrusting into herself hard and fast, making the shower water splash around her. The rhythmic slap-slap-slap of bare, wet skin against skin echoed loudly in her ears, and in Willow's ears. Buffy was making noises of her own now too, not gentle sighs and whispers but harsh grunts and low moans, like she was in pain, like she was fighting. She transfixed herself on her own fingers as if striking a deathblow, again and again. In her mind was nothing but pure focus on her sensations and actions; no elaborate fantasies here. But under it, Willow sensed urgency and hunger, a dark, violent hunger that scared her and sent her mind skittering away. She knew Buffy better than anyone, she loved her dearly as a friend, but sometimes... sometimes what lay within her frightened Willow deeply.

It was because Buffy was a Slayer. Or maybe - maybe the darkness inside her friend reminded her too much of herself.

Her focus rebounded away from Buffy, straight back to the other Summers sister - and just in time to catch the moment as Dawn gasped then squealed out loud - loud enough, in fact, for Willow to hear it with her actual ears back in her own bedroom. Dawn's body curved and writhed, her back arching and lifting her clear of the sheets, her free hand clawing at the bed, every muscle locked - and then she collapsed with a tremulous sigh into a happy, satiated, completely limp and exhausted mess. Her mind slowed and seemed to darken and fade out of sight, and Willow shook with relief as the link finally broke and she lost contact.

Except, of course, that that just left her with Buffy. Who was rapidly approaching her own climax, far faster than Dawn's had been. Her left hand had been brought into play too, fingers pressing on the hard nub at the top of her slit, but her right hand was still pumping steadily in and out of her, faster and faster, driving her closer and closer to the edge. Willow could feel every thrust, her own body convulsing and gripping what wasn't there, and the urgency and need in Buffy's brain grew to envelop them both and pull her down with it into the red darkness where something primal in her growled and snarled with hunger, and then Buffy's orgasm burst on them like bright white light and silent thunder, and a flood of wetness burst out of her and splashed her hand and mingled with the shower water as it flowed away down the plughole. And Buffy sat down heavily on the floor of the bath, and her mind went dark, and Willow was finally alone again.

She wriggled uncomfortably on her bed, uneasily aware that a large wet patch seemed to have appeared from nowhere right underneath where she'd been lying. She moved to the side of the bed to try and get away from it, and waited for her pulse to stop racing so she could, hopefully, finally get to sleep.

But just as she was starting to doze off... another burning flash of sexual lust burst around her and brought her straight back to full awareness. Buffy. Again. For the second time that night. Oh Goddess, was the woman insatiable? She was in her own bed now, stretched out naked on the sheets, legs wide - in fact, in exactly the same position Dawn had been in before, although doubtless she was unaware of the coincidence. And she was alternating teasing and rubbing herself too, again just like her sister. Clearly, having worked off her first urgent post-Slayage need she was planning to make the second time last a while.

Willow moaned in misery and wondered if she could book a flight back to England. It was going to be a long night...


End file.
